My Blood Is The Blood Of Many
by Number1PixarFan
Summary: The Allies have almost won WWII. But America still must take down the final Axis Power, Japan, and what he does he will forever regret. This is about two cities called Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Rated for violence.
1. Germany's Surrender

**A/N: Okay. Okay. I lied. I totally lied about giving up on longer stories. The two other oneshots I've posted this week were good and all, but most of my ideas take up far more space than one chapter allows. This was actually originally going to be a oneshot, but it didn't fit. This is good, because now that it'll be spread into at least five chapters, I'll be able to fit more stuff in it that I wouldn't otherwise.**

**As a new Hetalia fan, I find the idea of rewriting history with the characters very intriguing. I'm not a history scholar so a lot of my historical knowledge is a little flawed. But this is different. It's something that sticks with me very well for some reason.**

**I am an American girl who really does love her country. In Social Studies I always hear about awful things that happen in other countries, from simply having less freedom to having full-blown genocides. I always think to myself, "That kind of stuff never happens in America." But it **_**did. **_**The whole story with the Japanese internment camps and Hiroshima and Nagasaki reminds me that my home is not perfect and that we **_**have **_**done some horrific things.**

**I really don't understand how America and Japan become such good friends in Hetalia after the war is over. I simply don't see how Japan would ever be able to forgive us.**

**(end sentimental rant, proceed with story)**

**I'm listing any pairings in here to keep the summary from scaring off any readers. There's some very evident RoChu, especially in the second chapter. Later there will also be some implied USUK, but it's only there if you squint. Opposers to the pairing can easily read it as strictly familial love if they want to.**

**Please, enjoy this first chapter! And take the time**** to leave a review.**

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It could have possibly been the best day of Italy's life. Germany was finally making use of one of the many special presents he'd been given over the last six years! Despite the overall circumstances, Italy was beaming in pride.

His gruff friend was not as excited. Germany weakly raised his present, a pathetic little flag that sported nothing but a sad shade of off-white, above his head. Pained, he looked each of his five attackers right in the eye, then looked down and said, "I surrender."

"No, Germany, like this!" Italy said cheerfully. He waved his flag in wild circles around his head and shouted "I SURRENDER!" at the very top of his lungs.

An enormous hand enveloped both Italy's tiny flag and Italy's tiny hand. Italy stopped his flailing short to see Russia smiling at him. "Just shut up, little Italy, da?" he suggested.

Italy whimpered and nodded.

Pleased, Russia let go and walked back to the other Allies. "Now, what did you say again, Germany?" he asked.

"I said 'I surrender,'" Germany repeated.

Italy meekly raised his uncrushed hand and added, "And I was serious about what I was saying, too. If Germany is giving up, then so am I."

The reactions of the Allies were delayed – for a moment, they couldn't believe what they were hearing. But soon, their conference room was filled with cheering and cries of joy.

"We won! We really won aru!" China exclaimed

"Yes, we did," Russia responded, throwing an arm around the smaller man and hugging him close. For once, China was elated enough not to care.

France smirked at the man whose troops had attempted to abduct him under Nazi rule. His Allied team had managed to get him out of that, and now Germany had failed in more ways than just that. "It's so wonderful to watch you be defeated," France told him cooly.

"To tell you the truth, America, I never thought we'd be able to do it," England told his beaming colleague. "The group has never been able to successfully get _anything _done. But look at this . . . "

America joined him in concluding, " . . . we've won the war!"

"I have no other options," Germany said somberly. "The great _Fuhrer _is dead, and my troops no longer have anything to fight for."

America's grin grew sad as he took a step towards the ex-drill sergeant. "Yeah, Germany. About your _Fuhrer . . . _This is awkward, but –" He turned to Russia, who used his free hand to take a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket and hand them to the self-proclaimed hero. "– we need a public apology for his war crimes, or else."

Italy gasped. "War crimes? But Germany didn't commit any crimes, only Mr. Hitler did!" he protested.

"Yes, Hitler ordered the mass murder, but as his country, his main subordinate, Germany committed the crimes by extension," England clarified. "So, America, take him in. For the cruel murder of millions of Jews – was it millions?"

Germany placed a hand on his forehead. "Over six million."

"Six million! Aiyaah! That's a lot aru!" China wailed.

Russia leaned closer to him. "Trust me, Yao-Yao, I've seen worse," he whispered.

"Anyway!" England shouted, regaining his control. "For the cruel murder of over six million Jews, either apologize or be put on trial, Germany."

Germany clenched his hand tightly around his white flag and held both arms out with no qualms. "The Holocaust had other leaders, too, and unless they plead guilty, I'm afraid I'm condemned to stand by them until they do."

"Then we'll put them all on trial," England said.

America took a breath and stepped up to Germany. "Six million dead because you had a little economic issue, buddy?" he said as he strapped the handcuffs around the fallen enemy's unfaltering wrists. "Just get it into your head that genocide can't solve all your problems, all right?" He latched the final cuff and stepped back, giving both Axis countries before him a proud and chilling stare.

Meekly, Italy raised his hand. "You know how Japan came with us? We left him in the hallway and I want to see if he wants to surrender, too."

England frowned. "I suppose you could. Someone will have to escort you because we have papers we need you to sign to confirm your surrender, and we can't have you running off."

"May I ask something?" France said. "Shouldn't we have had Germany sign the papers _before _we put him in chains?"

This made Russia's eyes light up. "I have an idea! All the rest of you can help Italy, and we'll stay back and watch Germany while he's signing." He shook China to signify who he meant by _we_. "He'll be out of the handcuffs but we'll make sure he doesn't try anything funny, da?" He looked at both Germany and China in a very creepy way.

England nodded. "Sounds fair enough," he agreed. He slapped three contracts on the table. "Germany, sign. Italy, America, France, out."

Those four countries left Germany, Russia, and China behind, closing the door on them as they did. Italy led the way down the hallway towards the front of the building. He was practically skipping, and for someone who had just lost a war, he seemed very happy. He had _really _hated all the fighting and would much rather get back to his painting. Maybe Japan would like to join him!

When he saw Japan sitting stoically on a stool in the lobby, he ran to him, ready to propose his surrender and his fun painting idea. America, England, and France could hardly catch up with the excitable country, but they stayed on his tail and reached the calm Asian nation just as Italy was pulling out a third white flag to hand to Japan. He tried to say something, but he was panting too much from all the running he had just done.

Japan heard the panting and looked up. He was planning on first making a condescending comment to his young, red-faced ally, but then he saw the three blond enemies standing behind him. Finally, he saw the little flag in Italy's hand.

"Italy-kun," he said in deadpan. "So you really went through with it."

Italy had caught his breath and was about to respond, but England took the chance first. "And Germany too."

"You have nothing more to fight for, either, Japan, so why don't you be a good little man and join your friends, hmm?" France added.

"Yeah, Japan! Join your friends!" Italy exclaimed. He held the flag further out, as if it were a bouquet of flowers, a beautiful thing that Japan would have no choice but to accept.

America said nothing, and simply watched as Japan's gaze silently flickered between the four faces before him and the flag. He felt something empty in the pit of his stomach, as if this were an anticlimax to the great war that had raged for six years. He hadn't expected Japan to be defeated this easily. In fact, he hadn't _wanted _Japan to give up this easily. He ran his hand over a nip in the cartilage of his ear that he remembered to have been far worse at the start of the war. It was a memento to the very reason he had joined this war, and it might never be avenged now.

Eventually, Japan did slowly reach forward for the artifact in Italy's hand. But it seemed fate was listening to America's thoughts, for as soon as the Asian man had a hold of the flag, his face twisted in spite and he threw it on the ground. He stood up and stepped on it. It snapped under his foot.

The other four all gasped, and Italy's lip quivered. "But, Japan . . . " he whimpered.

Japan looked about to explain himself, but he was interrupted by a loud, girlish wail sounding from several rooms away.

France went stick-straight and turned his head towards the noise. "It must be China! Alone with Russia . . . Oh, I'd better go help him!" he said as he heroically dashed off.

England was right behind him. "Oh, no you don't! I'm not comfortable with how you might try to solve this issue!" he shouted as he marched purposefully after the smarmy Frenchman.

Japan turned his head away. "This didn't concern them, anyway." He kneeled to meet the eye level of Italy, who had tears forming in his eyes over both his good friend and his beautiful white flag. "Italy, I am sorry. You and Germany may have grown weak, but I am still a part of the mighty Axis. I'm not ready to give up."

Italy nodded and suddenly burst out in sobs, collapsing into a fetal position on the ground.

Japan stared at his former ally and sighed. Then he stood up, now with a visible new agenda. There was a hint of contempt as he looked America right in the eye.

America cringed as Japan slowly approached him. He wished he could follow France and England, but it had been made very clear that someone needed to stay with Italy.

"You and your Allies might have already won, but the war between us is not over," Japan said coldly. "I will stay fighting until I have been rightfully defeated. And by you, America. None of the others."

"What do you have against _me?"_

"You don't trust me and you hurt my people because of it. Many good Japanese men live in your home, and just because I am the enemy, you punished them." Japan pointed to America's mutilated ear. "You wouldn't want me to do that again, would you?"

America covered his ear. No. He wouldn't put himself through another Pearl Harbor. He stared at Japan in a mix of bewilderment and blind determination. "Okay. It's on then," he uttered.

Japan showed a slight smile, like this was just an awkward business deal, but it gave way to his emotionless default far too quickly. He leaned down and placed a hand on poor Italy's shoulder. "Please do not worry, Italy-kun. The pain of war is over for you." He rose up, gave both Axis Power and Ally a respectful nod, and walked to the front door. "Tell Germany I will see him at Nuremberg," he said to nobody in particular. Then he walked out of the building.

America stared at the closed door and swallowed. He didn't want this. He didn't want a personal feud with another country. In retrospect, it would have been a lot less stressful if Japan had just surrendered.

He reached down and dragged crying Italy to his feet. "Come on, Italy. I have a China to help and you have a paper to sign."

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**A/N: I am also Jewish so I feel very strongly concerning the whole situation with Germany. Doesn't taint my opinion of the character himself, but still. Very bad things happened there.**

**Also, a second disclaimer about my knowledge on this subject: I am still not a history scholar and although I remember more from history class about this subject than some others, I still don't know every detail. But then again, this is Hetalia fanfic, and Hetalia didn't exactly show history down to the last detail itself.**

**I hope you liked this chapter! Another one should come soon-ish. Please review!**


	2. Little Boy

**A/N: I'm back with chapter two! This one starts off as lighthearted Chpt. 1, if not more so, but the second half gets darker. And I'm sad to say it won't be getting much less dark after that.**

**Other things: this chapter contains some pretty strong RoChu, as well as the introduction of a real life character, US president Harry Truman. Originally, the RoChu in this story was going to be very minor, but when I started to write this chapter, I realized it had more bearing on the actual plot than I thought it would. This is the heaviest that the pairing will be used in the whole story, but just a warning for this single chapter.**

**Also, something I realized about Chpt. 1. I implied that America's ear was Hawaii, which later I realized made no sense. America went quite a while without Hawaii, so does that mean that until that point, he didn't have an ear? I am choosing to handwave it at this point, but eventually I'll get around to fixing it.**

**Hope you like this chapter! Please, R&R to tell me what you think!**

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"He just dove at me aru! I thought he'd try to hurt me, so I cried out. But he didn't!" China explained. He wiped persistent tears from his yes as he spoke, and his ponytail was coming undone.

"Well, what _did _he do?" America asked. He usually wasn't genuinely concerned for fellow nations in these types of situations, but China's looks were worrisome. And this was _Russia _they were talking about, too.

From the other side of the room, England sighed. "France and I walked in here and we saw Russia and China . . . making out, so to speak," he said.

What.

"What?" America said. He had not expected that.

China's teary eyes twinkled in affirmation. Russia clamped his huge hands on the smaller man's thin shoulders, and instead of retreating from Russia's and his frightening, ever-present aura, China smiled shyly at him. "I think it might be love aru!" he said.

America just stared at the odd couple. After his recent encounter with Japan, he wasn't fully processing his surroundings. Or the consequences of offhandedly saying something like, "You kiss him once and you're in love? But Russia is –"

Russia's smiling eyes turned to daggers. "What am I?"

"Oh! Nothing, nothing."

China giggled like a schoolgirl.

Well, France lived for this stuff. This certainly explained why had left the room laughing his head off. (With Germany and Italy in tow – for payback for his capture, France had volunteered to "watch over" Germany before his trial.)

England sensed a lull in the conversation, so he stood up at the center of the room with an easy smile on his face. He looked much more relaxed than he had been in six years. "Now, I know France left, but that will only make going out to celebrate that much more enjoyable. Right?" he proclaimed.

(France was probably celebrating himself at that very moment. He'd made a point of saying he wouldn't let Germany out of his handcuffs. Frankly, what was waiting for Germany at France's home was either too much fun for a criminal to deserve or too harsh torture for even a mass murder to warrant.)

"Actually, England," America replied, "I don't know if I'm up for celebrating."

"Alright, then. Understandable," England said. Surprisingly, he sounded more sympathetic than cocky when he said it. Then he turned to Russia and China. "I know I might regret this, but are you gentlemen willing?"

"If there will be vodka, da, or course we are," Russia answered. He ran his fingers over China's hair, ending with a tug on his ponytail. "But I'm sure we'll be leaving for my home rather soon, da?"

China blushed. "Right. But please, don't let my family find out where I am aru. They'll go nuts on me!"

China's words flooded America's empty thoughts, and he let himself lose focus of the world around him just to follow a tangent. _China's family, _he mused. _Lots of brothers, right? Crazy ones, like Korea, or . . . _

America's disconnected train of thought made something suddenly click. China was Japan's brother! Of course! The answer to the Allies' final little problem was a part of them from the very beginning. Japan was reasonable. He would listen to brotherly advice.

So America jumped up as quickly as his colleagues did, though he wasn't going to join them.

"America, since you're going straight home, I'm trusting you with the contracts," England said, holding out the papers – one signed in neat cursive handwriting and the other sloppy and drenched in Italy's tears. Russia was dragging China out of the conference room before America got the chance to accept them – _dammit! _But England needed a moment to finish.

"I wish you'd reconsider joining us. Five minutes of this and I've already decided those two are sickening. But if you'd rather think over the situation with Japan . . . I commend you for being able to focus on work."

America nodded quickly. "Yeah, that's exactly the reason I'm not going."

"We'll get together to discuss it as soon as I've sobered up from whatever happens tonight." England smirked. "If that day ever comes."

"Right," America agreed. No need to tell England that this hardly concerned him. "See you then, dude." He gave England a nod and dashed out of the conference room.

It turned out that there was no need to run, because China had not left yet. Russia was holding him captive in the lobby between a chair and his own body. It wouldn't be fair to say that China didn't look to be enjoying Russia's attempts at planting greedy kisses all over his face, but his expression did read some mix of _"Not in public aru!" _and _"Too fast aru!" _

Those were his thoughts exactly. Maybe Russia was his love, but it was like a godsend for China to hear America's feet pounding on the ground and his shouts of, "Hey, China!"

Russia scowled and stopped, letting his frazzled lover out of the chair. China smiled weakly as he limped to America. "Hello, America! What do you need aru?" he said breathlessly and with a hint of relief.

America felt too queasy to respond right away. Not only would the image of Ivan attempting to molest his little Yao-Yao haunt him forever (he assumed, at least), but it just seemed wrong for a bizarre romance to be going on in the same room as Japan's cold refusal. But maybe China's persistent cheer was a good sign for how this would play out. America crossed an arm across his belly to calm his stomach and succeeded at giving a confident grin.

"Now, guys, I just think you should know before you go partying that Japan still hasn't surrendered, and he's angrier than ever," he said.

"Oh no," Russia muttered.

"Japan?" China gasped. "No, I can't believe it! Why are we celebrating? What are we going to do?"

America put his hands up. "Hey, don't freak out, alright? I have a plan." He warily placed a hand on China's shoulder. Usually, the Eastern country didn't like being touched, but suddenly he appeared to have no qualms. Russia was surely to thank for that. "China, I know you're very close to Japan. Practically brothers, right?" He laughed alone. He really wasn't in the mood for making good jokes.

China looked down. "We are. But as we've been fighting for the last six years, you can see we're not on very good terms aru . . . "

"But you could do so much better than I could at talking sense into him!" America pressed. "Please? I hate to admit it, but you've been as great an asset to this team as I've been. So won't you try?"

"And I haven't been a great asset to the team?" Russia asked. He picked a discarded lead pipe off the floor. Swinging it in his hands, he suggested, "I could go to Japan and see what he thinks of my pipe, da?" He scrutinized America and a spry smile lit his face. Could he tell that America was dumping something that was specifically his responsibility onto poor China? "I could show you how well it would work right now . . . "

"Alright, I'll try aru!" China blurted out before Russia got a chance to attack.

America grinned. "Thanks so much, dude! This will help us so much," he said. Then he leaned in closer and whispered, "And do yourself a favor, buddy. I'd seriously advise you watch out for your new boyfriend."

China grimaced. "I will try, America."

"Thanks again, buddy," America said, patting China on the back and scampering away as quickly as possible so as to avoid Russia's pipe. As he walked out the building's front door, he felt the heavy responsibilities of war rolling off his shoulders. Maybe now that he was off the hook, he _should _take up England's offer to join the party.

Nah, he really needed some time away from those crazy Eurasian countries. All he needed right now was to get home and have some postwar relaxation time.

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The news of the Allied victory had quickly spread to North America. On his way home, America was stopped in the middle of the street to be congratulated by Honduras, Panama, Mexico, and one other blond guy with glasses who ended his congratulations with "eh?" (He had no idea.) Now that his problem with Japan was solved, he was officially able to ride home on those compliments. He was the hero! Eh Guy had plenty right to pride him for winning the war.

As America passed his final worshiper and jauntily stepped through the front door of his home, he wondered what he would do with his free time now. He might go to bed early, or maybe make himself a burger and watch some TV.

But any plans he had terminated themselves in his mind when he stepped into his living room to see a balding, bespectacled man waiting for him. It was his boss, President Harry Truman.

"Welcome home, America," President Truman greeted him with a nod.

"President Truman? What's up, boss?" America asked. He was a bit confused – why was his boss visiting him now? What was so important that needed to be discussed?

Truman motioned for his country. "Come here," he said, to which America obliged. The President then gave him a thin smile. "So we've won World War Two! I'd like to congratulate you, sir. Job well done." He reached out to shake America's hand, holding his left hand securely behind his back as he did.

"Thank you, sir."

"But I also heard about our friend Japan. Being a little stubborn, is he?"

America shook his head and waved the situation away. "Oh, don't worry about Japan, prez. I've already handled it," he said with a laugh. "You know how I'm allied with China, right? I told him to talk to the little guy. I know he'll have surrendered to the good guys by tomorrow night."

Truman raised an eyebrow. "China, huh? Japan's brother. I see. Very clever of you," he said. "But I also received word that Japan has a specific request to only deal with you. I don't like seeing you passing up responsibility. What do I always say?"

America remembered his boss's favorite mantra and looked at the floor, ashamed. "The buck stops here," he answered.

"This is our problem, and we're going to have to solve it ourselves. Now, I just tried speaking with Japan's boss, but he refuses to hear me. And Japan himself is being unresponsive, as well. China can talk to him, but it will not make a difference. _You _could speak with him and it wouldn't make a difference. You should know full well that he is a very stubborn man."

"In all fairness, prez, we did lock up a bunch of his people in camps. He kind of holds a grudge . . . "

"I know I haven't spent much time in office, but I could tell how proud he was of the Axis's supposed strength. He won't go down without a _very _strong argument. And there really is only one way to do this." The president took a slow breath before continuing. Any trace of a smile he had previously shown tapered off, leaving him somber as he said, "I really hate having to ask you to do this, America, but we have no choice . . . " With that, he withdrew his left hand from behind his back, revealing the knife he held.

America gasped in awe. It wasn't as if he had never seen a knife before – when you're at war, you see them every day. But this was not just an ordinary knife. The handle was long and blocky, more like one of Russia's lead pipes than a handle. It melted into the blade itself, almost a foot long, tapered into a point at the end that appeared – and was – sharp enough to pierce through a cinder block. Both edges of the knife were just as sharp and terrifying as that point, with not a single nick in the metal as it reflected sparks of fluid yet ugly shades of gray on its surface.

It was a terrible weapon, and America couldn't stand to think of the fact that it existed inside his own home. He kept it hidden in a closet, hoping he'd never have to touch it. As a rule, he'd had to share its location with President Truman, but now he was wondering whether he should have just kept it classified. "You . . . you want me to use the A-bomb?" he stammered.

Truman held the weapon out. "It's the only way to officially end this war. But please, I don't want the citizens to know. Call it by its codename, 'Little Boy.'"

_Little Boy. _It sounded like whoever named it thought war was a game. America would openly admit, that's what he had to pretend it was for the most part to keep himself invested. But a _bombing? _A bombing was most definitely not a game. And he wasn't sure he could go through with it.

"I need to use it on Japan? Really, prez, he can be a prick, but he's not so bad a guy that he deserves to be bombed," he pleaded.

Truman's expression grew stern. "Take it," he demanded.

America flinched and reached for the knife. He almost placed his hand too far up the handle, but Truman barked at him before he did. "Careful! We don't want to accidentally attack Montana, do we?"

"Sorry, sir," America said quietly. He safely took the weapon from his boss and held it a distance away from him. He knew it could only be used once, so if it so much as grazed a nation's skin, all that potential energy would blow up in their face. He should be powerful as a global superpower, but the atomic bomb took that power to an extreme even he wasn't fully comfortable with. "Do I really have to?"

"No arguments. The buck stops with you, and we can't win unless you carry this out. It's an awful thing for me to ask. I can already tell that I'll regret it. But it is the only way," Truman explained.

America couldn't argue. The president's judgement always ruled.

Truman gave a weak smile and placed a friendly hand on his country's shoulder. "You are a strong nation, but you'll have to step on a few feet to stay that way. Do you understand that?"

America nodded. "I do, prez."

"Good," Truman said. He stepped back and waved as he headed towards the exit. "I'll give you tomorrow to come up with a strategy, and then first thing the next morning a fighter plane called the Enola Gay is going to pick you up and fly you to Japan's home."

America tried not to laugh in spite of himself.

"It was named after one of the crewmen's mothers, America," Truman said sternly.

America didn't need to be scolded, as he was too bothered to laugh long. He was back to seriousness in a matter of seconds.

Truman nodded at America and waved. "I wish you the best of luck, America," he called as he left.

"Thanks, President Truman," America replied, albeit very quietly. He was left alone with the atomic bomb – Little Boy – and he could tell that there were going to be two sleepless nights ahead of him.

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**A/N: I actually had to write France out of that first half just to keep it from getting too perverted. But I kept some mention of him taking Germany home with him to please a friend of mine – you happy now, Mickey?**

**I hope you liked it. Next chapter tells the story of the bombing of Hiroshima. Get ready.**


	3. Hiroshima

**A/N: Well, it's finally here. The bombing of Hiroshima has been written in a humanized format. Sorry for the wait – I have seriously been slammed with homework the past few weeks. **

**The first half also has some USUK angst. If you are not a fan, do not worry. It is more friendly and brotherly than romantic, though you can read it with romance in mind if you want to. **

**Now I'll leave you to read it. Please enjoy! And please R&R! (I would really like some feedback on the second half).**

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He was almost right. He wouldn't let sleep come to him as he contemplated the day's events. But eventually, his tired eyes got the best of him.

America woke up red-eyed, knowing he couldn't have slept for very long. But apparently he'd been sleeping pretty deeply during that short time, as became evident when he stumbled out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen. Because sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of tea and a copy of the London Post was another unexpected visitor.

"Good morning, America," England greeted him when he heard the footsteps. "I take it you had a relaxing evening."

Wasn't that wrong. America didn't have the energy to even be surprised. "How did you get it?" he asked. He went straight for his stove to brew himself a pot of coffee.

England picked a key up off the table and displayed it. "The same way I did 150 years ago," he answered. "I never got rid of the key, just in case you ever got in trouble and needed help."

Hmm. "Well, it's nice, and weird, to hear that you cared that much." America opened the can of coffee beans. A warm scent came out of the top. The aroma of coffee beans usually took some heating before it could catch him up with what he needed to remember any given morning. But today, it started gradually with the first whiff. "Hey, England," he realized. "Shouldn't you be violently hung over right now?"

England laughed. "Oh, no," he said. "No, actually. We never got around to drinking."

"Why not?" America asked. He filled the pot with water, turned on the stove, and waited for England's answer.

"You know, I'm really not sure . . . " England replied. "China said something on the way that made Russia angry, there were some flashing lights, and suddenly, I was alone. Going to a bar by myself would be suicide . . . "

"Isn't that so," America said with a yawn and a laugh. He went to put the coffee into the kettle, and caught one more whiff of their stimulating aroma right as England concluded.

"And I decided there was really no reason to celebrate. What with Japan and all . . . "

Harry Truman. The A-bomb. The images flashed in America's mind and he stepped back. Having remembered his gruesome assignment, he no longer needed the coffee's help to wake him up. He stepped away from the brewing kettle so he could sit down in the chair across from England. "That's what you're here to talk about, isn't it?" he said.

England folded down his newspaper and set it on the table. The headline read _The War Is Won at Last!_ "I wish I had been there to stop them from posting this," he said, gesturing to the title. "It's worth the news, of course, but it's not entirely true." He lifted his tea to his lips. "Care to strategize?" he added before taking a sip.

The way his fingers wrapped around the handle looked eerily similar to the way one might grasp a knife before the kill, no matter how proper. But England wasn't ham-fisted. America rubbed his glasses on his shirt, because obviously they were playing tricks on him. While blind, he tried to smile and speak amiably. "Would you believe I've already taken care of it?" It came out sounding nervous.

England smiled, bemused. "Have you?"

"Well . . . kind of," America said. "You know that Japan has a brother in our group, right?"

"That's right!" England suddenly stood at the epiphany, slamming his cup on the table as he did. It made America jump, as he half-expected his furniture to scream in pain. "So you think China can handle it?"

America shrugged. Even if China could, he would still have to go through with Truman's plan. "I _hope _he can," he fibbed, "but if not, I have another plan."

"What is it?"

"Um, hold on. I'll show you." America stood. He didn't look forward to unearthing Little Boy from its deep space in the coat closet, but it would be easier to show England than straight-out say, "I'm gonna whip out that wicked deadly bomb I've been working on and sic it on him." So shaking slightly in his socks, he made his slow way to the closet in the hallway.

England nodded and sat back down. "Bloody brilliant," he muttered. "With a back-up plan and everything. You know, America, I can't believe I'm saying this. But I must admit. I think I misjudged you."

"Really?" America responded, looking back to the kitchen as he pushed away the first of his dusty formal suits hanging in the closet.

"Really. Ever since your betrayal of me, you've been nothing but a rash and immature child with an overinflated ego." England paused, waiting for America to object. When nothing came, he smiled and continued. "I was _not _confident about working with you. But these last few years have shown me that time and history have made you highly competent. Not much to be said for brains, but . . . I'm proud of you, America."

America had his hand on the shoebox with the knife inside and was about to pick it up when he heard England's last comment. He was . . . proud?

He couldn't say it any better himself – he _was _a highly competent individual, not to mention superstrong and really, really smart. A little civil war and a decade of crippling poverty _were _harrowing enough to make even a carefree guy like himself a little tougher. But he didn't expect to hear it from _England. _

Could England stay proud of a bomber?

America stepped away from the box. It was just too terrible to tell anyone about. They'd hate him for it.

"America?" England called.

He had to think fast. So as he bolted, shutting the closet door fast behind him, America said, "I left it up in my room, but I can tell you about it. Um, I prepared a list of questions and threats to throw at him. Not too original, but I think it'll do the trick. There's all this stuff about how a loner like him couldn't possibly be a leading world power, and violent threats that I wouldn't go through with, of course, because they're convincing enough that he'll be scared into surrender –"

"You're working on some top-secret superweapon right now, aren't you?" England interrupted. He was standing at America's stove for some reason.

About half of the oxygen in America's brain extinguished itself as he went white. "What? Maybe I am, maybe not. Why do you need to know?" he mumbled. "You suggesting I use it?"

England frowned. "Of course not," he replied, shaking his head. "But if you're going for realistic threats you wouldn't carry out, that seems like something to mention."

"Oh," America sighed. That had come so close to reality that he was still a little disoriented. "I, uh, don't know about that. I don't want to be leaking too much information about that."

England nodded and turned around, gesturing to the still coffee pot. "Your coffee pot started to whistle, so I turned off the stove to be safe. I didn't know if it needed to brew any longer, but if it doesn't, do you want me to pour you some?" He lifted the kettle by the handle and swung it into the air carelessly.

America flinched. The spout of the kettle was sharp metal and it reminded him a lot of something else, especially considering how England was wielding it. "Oh, no," he stammered. "It's probably not done, but I don't think I'm in a mood for coffee anymore, thanks."

England set the kettle down again. "Are you sure? I thought this was what kept Americans alive come the morning."

America shrugged.

At that, England smiled. He stepped towards America respectfully and reached out his hand. It faltered for a moment, but he brought himself to firmly place it on the taller young man's shoulder. "Well, America, good luck," he said. "I know I didn't act like it, but I enjoyed working with you. If we're ever thrown into war again, let's hope we stay on the same side, all right?" He nodded and patted his old charge on the shoulder. "I'll let myself out. I'll see you later?"

America smiled weakly and responded, "Yeah. Bye." He watched England pick up his newspaper, key, cup, and saucer and walk out of the kitchen.

Well, he'd gotten out of that one. But what would happen after the deed was done? Would England still act so nice after he'd put Little Boy into play?

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Japan took the final bite of his breakfast and, as he set down his chopsticks, sighed. He closed his eyes and sat, listening. Silence. The first meal he'd had in silence for quite a while, actually. Not to say he didn't miss the company of his allies, but over the course of the war, he'd been forced to live either at Germany's house or on that dreadful island. He fell asleep to Italy's snoring and woke to Germany's angry shouts. Not to mention their sickening eating habits, their rampant partial nudity, their brazen Western behaviors –

It was better to be alone.

He had missed his home. Even while he was still at war, it remained peaceful. It was the perfect place to conspire how he'd keep America in the dust no matter what he tried.

Obviously, all he had to do was wait until America did something stupid. If the country from the distant West managed to weaken himself, Japan would take that time to do some pushups and gather an army behind him – basically, make himself stronger.

It was only a matter of time before that first move. For the past two days, he'd heard nothing from anyone, not even America. But America was a restless young man. He couldn't stay away for long, and until then, all Japan had to do was sit at home with a smug expression on his face.

Despite the nagging aspect of the war, it was going to be an average day in Japan. He gathered his breakfast tray and went to start the mundane chores he'd been missing so much. His plants were in desperate need of watering.

But a noise from behind almost made him drop his dishes. Was he hearing another person in his home?

It was all possible. His citizens were allowed to visit as they pleased. It was just hearing their footsteps so early in a home that was so empty that startled him.

He heard the footsteps again. This time, though, they were closer, and it seemed their owner was forcing them to be quiet. Suspicious.

And then they stopped with a loud stomp.

Right behind Japan.

He could feel the presence of a man who knew he wasn't welcome. He heard strained breathing.

The breakfast tray fell to the floor and Japan turned to see America poised for attack. The young man stood legs apart, trying to appear sure of himself while his quivering belied his apprehension. He was sweating and he appeared anguished in general.

"What are you doing here?" Japan asked. He said it coldly, but that was before he noticed the object America was holding above his head. "America, what . . . you . . . " he stammered, no longer capable of eloquence as he tried to register that his knife-wielding enemy was aiming this weapon at his shoulder, an important location for him as it represented a city called Hiroshima.

America couldn't look Japan in the eye or speak as his arm flew forward. He just stared at his target, teeth clenched. The sharp edges of the knife glinted with vicious sparks as it speared the air and then, before Japan had the chance to move his feet, pierced his uniform and the skin underneath.

White light blinded Japan while a sudden earthshaking boom contained inside his head disoriented him. He stumbled backwards and immediately he felt the pain.

Not only was the pain crippling, but it spread. It spread from the spot that had been hit to his hand, making him warp how he held his fingers, and to the very center of his chest, choking his breath. It felt like some malicious and sickly substance was coursing through his nerves.

The hurting paralyzed him so much that he couldn't even cry out. But as quickly as it came, it stopped. The torture was not over, though. The pain had taken over his head, leaving him dizzy, and startlingly, he could no longer feel the shoulder that America's knife had impaled. As he could clutch the wound, it was obviously still there. But it was numb. Almost as if part of it had spontaneously disintegrated –

Oh no.

His dizziness was growing so strong that it forced him to his knees. But he managed to turn his head and saw that his clean white clothes were now a deep, deep red.

"My people . . . why?" he said hoarsely as he caught sight of America in his bleary vision. America didn't respond. The bastard just stood there, watching his victim fall. What Japan couldn't see as he collapsed and hit his head, however, was a tear falling from one of America's blue eyes.

Once the Asian country had blacked out completely, America whispered to nobody, "You might never be able to use that arm again. I'm sorry."

To put this in strictly human terms, a man named Kiku Honda lay unconscious on the floor of his own home, his left arm twisted behind him unnaturally. His bespectacled opponent, Alfred F. Jones, stood before him guilty of the crime, with a lethally powerful but now dead weapon in his hand. Kiku's wound was already clotting (part of the magic of the weapon), but that hardly mattered. Blood was still slowly trickling out, and there was an enormous crimson flood of it underneath him.

In reality, this meant so much more than it did from that strictly human perspective, but America was too naive to fully understand that. He fled Japan's home and climbed back up the rope ladder to the Enola Gay, not quite realizing what this meant for the people living in that city called Hiroshima.

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**A/N: Well. Now. That wasn't too awful to read, I hope. I have never written something like that before. **

**I hope you liked it. And the story is not finished, of course.**

**Please review!**


	4. No Historically Relevant Title

**A/N: More brotherly stuff in this chapter, except this time it's between China and Japan!**

**I guess I have to explain the inclusion of Poland in this one. This chapter was initially supposed to supply a bit of a break from the bombing and focused on the Nuremberg Trials. For some reason, I thought Nuremberg might be in Poland, so he was the gatekeeper who was trying to keep China out. Then I remembered that Nuremberg actually wasn't in Poland, it was in Germany. Then I realized that the Allies wouldn't be kept out of the trials because they were running them in the first place. Then I realized that the trials had very little place in this story at all other than maybe a passing mention. But the idea of Poland getting in China's way was just too fun. I had to write it somehow.**

**Also, more stuff about Poland and the way he speaks. I love what most of the media does with his whole Valley Girl accent, but I follow the dubbed anime more than anything else and that has him talk like a skater instead, which I love just as much as the Valley Girl thing. So what we wind up with here is a mix of both.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please R&R!**

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"Whoa, whoa! Keep out, panda freak!"

China stared into the open palm of Poland. Was the European country really going to make this difficult for him? He was far too weary to really negotiate with the pathetic Valley-accented menace, but he'd made a promise.

"Like, none of you Allies are getting past German borders while he's preparing for trial, bro-ski," Poland nagged. "He may be under house arrest but that doesn't make it any less uncool to go screwing with his national security."

Goodness, he was so rude! Could he not _see _how tired China was, or the purple bruise on forehead? China simply couldn't fathom what business Poland had that was so important he couldn't offer a little sympathy. "What are you even doing here, Poland?" he asked hoarsely.

Poland shot the Asian nation an unjustifiedly sassy look and placed his hands on his hips. "I was only captured by the Nazis for, oh, say, a majorly long time. I'm down with showing arbitrary loyalty to the country behind it all." He smiled slyly. "And I kind of felt like being a bitch to people like you today. So here I am!"

_You _are _a bitch, _China wanted to reply. But there was no point being rude back. "Please let me in aru," he asked a second time. He brushed his hair off his forehead so Poland might get a better look at his bruise. Maybe he hadn't understood how much pain China was in in the first place?

"Not a chance."

China frowned. "France is in the house," he argued as he let his bangs fall back down. Just went to show that Russia was good for absolutely nothing.

Poland crossed his arms and explained, shaking his head, "France had the terms of Germany's surrender with him and he told me it said he had to stay with Germany no matter what. He wouldn't let me read it, but then again, he scares me a little." He paused when he saw China's expression of disbelief. "It's just 'cause he's such a creeper. And you won the war, so the Allies all must be, like, pretty rad fighters. Except, like, no offense to you, but you look all tired and beaten up and stuff, so I think I might be able to take you."

Wow, Poland. _Bro-ski. _Just wow. That stung, and China was getting nowhere. He would have left right then and there, if not for the promise he'd made America. He simply didn't deserve this kind of . . .

. . . abuse. Suddenly, he felt that he really, _really _needed to see his brother, even more than he had before.

"Okay, okay, I'll leave," he said breathlessly. "But can you at least send Japan out so I can speak to him aru?"

This made Poland knit his eyebrows. He blinked his eyes absently (did they have eyeliner on them?) and looked to the ground, this sudden confusion putting him at a blissful loss for words. "What? What made you think Japan would be here?" he finally wondered aloud.

"I guess I thought that the Axis Powers would always be together aru. Even though the war is over, I figured, if Germany is at Germany's house . . . " China realized now that this was very flawed logic.

"I can't help you, bro-ski," Poland said, shrugging. "From all I know, nobody in this house has, like, seen Japan _at all _this morning. And I don't know where the hell he'd be."

"Do you think I should check his home aru?" China mused.

Poland stared blankly at China once more. "Yeah," he said. "You should do that."

So China spun on his heels, running as quickly away from Germany's house and his idiotic security guard as he could. There was no time to book a short flight or get a cab. So he just ran. His legs could barely carry him, he was so weak from what had happened to him the other night. But through his pain, he kept going, as it was all he could do to keep a simple promise . . .

Yes, yes, you're wondering what could have possibly hurt China so badly. And why he feels he has to whine about it incessantly inside his head. Well, it had to do with Russia.

It should not have been a surprise that Russia was a bad partner. It should not have been a surprise what terrible things Russia could do to a much smaller man. And it should not have been a surprise that he was very, _very _easily angered.

None of that stopped China from making a comment involving "ice dancing" on the way to the bar. It was apparently an embarrassing subject for Russia, not one he enjoyed being brought up. But China hadn't expected for it to make him homicidally angry. Before he even knew what was happening, Russia was dragging him back to his home, going "kolkolkol" the entire way there and even while he was pushing his Asian friend's fragile frame around with his strong hands and whacking him upside the head with his pipe. China stumbled back to his own home the next morning, thanking his immortality that he was still alive and deciding there was no way he'd _ever _go back to Russia.

Not all scars lasted forever, though, and given his history, China could tell which ones would. None of these were especially permanent, so once he felt he had the energy, he got up on his aching feet and went to find his younger brother.

And now those aching feet were running. He had a strange hunch something bad was happening to Japan. News of his unknown whereabouts just upped his suspicions. And the more he thought about his encounter with Russia, the more he felt like he was about to witness a tragedy ten times worse.

China was panting when he reached Japan's humble home. It was quiet outside. This was Japan, of course, but it just didn't seem right!

There was nobody there to stop China when he threw open the sliding door and burst into his brother's house. "Japan!" he shouted. He heard no answer. But unbeknownst to him, Japan was in that first room with him. All China had to do was look down.

And then he did. And he gasped.

There was his little brother lying on the floor wearing a blood-soaked uniform. His face was white and it looked like his left warm was about to fall off. There was no sign of who had attacked the wounded nation, but they'd done it brutally.

China dropped to his knees and scrambled to Japan's side. "Japan, what happened to you aru?" he shouted. But Japan was out cold. He might have been dead, if not for the short, stifled breathing that China heard.

He needed help! China could get him into bed, put a bandage around the gash in his arm. Maybe make him some medicinal tea? He had no idea if any of it would do anything. But he was panicked, so he got on his feet and tried it all.

While China dragged Japan into his bedroom, making sure he was safely under the covers, Japan did nothing but breathe faintly. He was still unconscious. But once China brought in the cloth and had started to wrap it around his arm, he saw his brother's eyes flutter. Japan seemed to notice him sitting over him, and he started to open his mouth to say something. But he simply lacked the capability to move his jaw at all. He relaxed his mouth and closed his eyes again, falling back into an ill slumber while China realized his own pain at the moment might only be the second worst in the world.

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Japan woke up suddenly, and the first thing that entered his mind, even before he noticed his pain, was _America._

He'd known America for less than two hundred years, and it had only taken that much time to establish him as a useless child who was too boisterous for his own good. But the events that had conspired today showed that he was really a monster.

The two of them were simply rivals. How could he take that as an excuse to do something so horrible? Japan couldn't demonize him just for the bombing alone. He himself was guilty of using his katana for more serious purposes than just threatening others. China had been a victim many, many years ago, as his dreams had reminded him after a visit from his older brother earlier in the day. He'd even attacked America once – it was what had gotten him into this mess.

But America took the concept of bombing a step too far. Where in the metaphorical Hell had he obtained such a viciously powerful weapon? Japan had never seen a single stab in the shoulder elicit so much suffering. Or so much death, for that matter.

This was the way injuries worked for the personifications of nations. If one got wounded somehow, it caused the deaths of multiple of their mortal civilians. Small, accidentally self-inflicted ones, corresponded with internalized crimes. A paper cut might mean a school shooting. But when inflicted by another country, it represented a blow delivered from one government to another set of innocent people. The larger the injury, the higher the gruesomeness and death count of the real life attack.

The mark America's knife had made was actually small. But Japan's white clothes were sopping and scarlet, as was the cloth that had probably been applied to the wound a while after the initial attack happened. He felt so light-headed that he barely noticed the throbbing pain his arm was in. Blood loss also played a huge role in the scope of a disaster.

This bomb may or may not have been tiny. All that could be said was that it was an absolutely horrifying tragedy either way.

Japan was still far too fragile to sit up, but he could move individual body parts. He looked to his right and saw on his bedside table a cup of tea. He tried to keep down his slight smile. China had really done all he could to help him while he was unconscious. And it was on the side where he could reach it with his good arm, too.

He picked up the tea and brought it to his face. It was lukewarm, but he'd been sleeping for what was probably hours so it was to be expected.

Japan wondered whether his older brother was still allied with America now that the war was over. No, he couldn't be. China was good-natured and a little naive, but he wouldn't try to clean up the mess that his ally had deliberately made.

Also, Japan really hoped they were no longer allied, because otherwise it would just be cruel to sip the cold tea his brother had made while he thought, _You've only made me angrier, America. Don't think your foul move has won. There's no way I'm surrendering now._

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! There's still a couple more chapters left, but while I'm writing them, some constructive reviews would motivate me.**


	5. Nagasaki

**A/N: I'm back!**

**It took a little long to get this one done, I know. I was just afraid that it would be, y'know, too soon. I'm even a little worried about offending anyone by posting now. **

**But either way, I hope you like this chapter. Please R&R!**

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How much impact had it really had?

Had it been worth it?

America didn't know. There was nothing he could do now besides sit at his kitchen table, wondering whether it had been the right thing to do. News from Japan would help, but he wasn't receiving any. He wished nothing more at that moment than for his Asian opponent to call or, even better, appear at his door, just so he could get the image of him sprawled like death on the floor out of his head.

It was impossible to try to put himself in Japan's shoes. How badly had the atomic bomb hurt? What the hell did he mean when he screeched "My people! Why?" in that breathless voice? The image of Japan falling to his knees would be etched in America's memory forever, and over time he'd probably imagine it even gorier than it actually had been.

He couldn't kid himself – he'd committed a horrendous act.

But America had been sitting at that kitchen table for a day now. In that time, he'd managed to look at it in a different perspective. This could end the war. Japan was being a stubborn jerk, and if this was the only way to get him to see, then America could have saved everyone from the pain of war. This led him to think maybe it hadn't been that bad a thing to do, and that in turn gave him a thought that scared him.

He realized how easy it had been. Entering Japan's home had been nerve-racking, and so had standing before him with the evil weapon in hand. Even now thinking about how it had looked – a flash of white before him, Japan collapsing in a pool of his own gushing blood – made him feel like a monster. But the actual act of stabbing him? Simple, over in a second. Like removing a bandage.

The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut entered America's ears. _Please, don't let it be England again, _he thought. To his knowledge, none of the other Allies knew anything about what he'd done, and he didn't want to be the one to tell them.

"Good afternoon, America," said a voice that, to America's relief, lacked a distinct British accent.

America turned his tired eyes to his boss. He sighed in exhaustion and went back to staring at his hands.

Harry Truman pulled out a chair across from his country and sat. "Nothing back yet from Japan?" he asked.

America could hardly lift his head. He didn't want to look his boss, or anyone, in the eye. "No," he said quietly. "He's probably in too much pain to get up."

It was the president's turn to sigh. "America, it's obvious you feel pretty guilty about this."

"I feel _awful_, prez. You didn't see him lying there. You wouldn't know."

"No, no, I do know. That was a highly dangerous weapon, guaranteed to do some serious damage," Truman responded. "Now, Japan suffered a blow, and many people did die, but –"

"Whoa, whoa, what?" America snapped his head up and jumped out of his chair. "People _died? _I – I just _killed _an entire city of people?"

Truman was slightly taken aback by America's sudden shock. "Well, yes!" he answered. "I knew you had never been a victim of an attack that size yourself, but I at least assumed you at least understood that bombs were designed for the sole purpose to kill . . . "

"I did understand, I did!" America said, frantically running his fingers through his hair. He was beginning to pace. "I just . . . Maybe I was too focused on Japan himself, or . . . I should have known this!" On some level, he had. But his own inability to see the repercussions of his actions was really starting to screw with him.

"All you need to remember is that although the sacrifice of Hiroshima is a tragedy, your having gone through with it is going to end the war more quickly and save the lives of even more people who'd die in battle anyway," Truman said. "Does that make any sense to you, America? America!"

He called a second time because America seemed to be falling into his own little world of insanity and disbelief, hyperventilating, sweating, mussing his hair with his sweat-soaked hands. But through his upset, he did hear the president. "Yeah, prez. It makes perfect sense! It does, it does, but that doesn't make me worry any less –" He stopped his frantic pacing short to grab onto the back of his chair with both hands and lean toward his boss. " – about why hearing that people died doesn't make me feel any worse about this!" His expression was crazed, almost nightmarishly so.

"Just sit down and listen to me!" Truman ordered, making futile gestures to tell America to calm down.

America shook his head wildly.

Truman surrendered and placed a hand on his forehead. "You did what you had to do. And I'm a little relieved to hear you say what you just did. I haven't heard anything at all from Japan's boss since the incident, and I came here to ask if you'd be able to do what you have to do a second time if you had to."

America heard this and suddenly he was able to blink away the craziness in his eyes. He sat himself down, albeit with a dizzying headache.

He knew he shouldn't. He'd already exterminated an entire city, for God's sake! But it had been so _easy _that first time. And he couldn't just wait for Japan to end it. This whole war was in his hands. The president's motto was his – the buck stops here. There was no fighting it.

Especially now that he was going slightly mad with atomic power.

"You know, I think I get what you mean," he said. "And I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but . . . I actually think I can."

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This house had many doors, and while some of them had effective locks, more of them had flimsy locks, and the majority had no locks at all. A large part of Japan's isolated nature was the expectation that if he didn't want to see anybody, nobody worth keeping out would want to see him.

Even after years and years of dealing with South Korea, he still couldn't figure out that he was wrong.

But now that he was invading for the second time, America only needed to know one door and how to get through it. It felt wrong, like he was developing and getting used to a routine for breaking and entering.

The whole process was eerily similar, actually. The house was quiet. There was sun seeping in drowsily past the window shades. Exotic artwork (exotic to an American, anyway) and plants decorated the walls. And America still found himself lurking about in a way that made this unsuspecting peace just plain inappropriate. The only difference was that this time, there was sorrow in the air and a dark red stain on the kitchen floor.

America wanted to call out Japan's name so he wouldn't be as unpleasantly surprised as the last time. But something about that seemed too friendly. So he didn't call out, which, unfortunately, would have had the second purpose of helping him find Japan. He was stuck peeking through passageways and around corners on the search for his designated enemy.

He jumped back a couple of inches when he turned his head around the corner of a doorway and saw Japan's wide-open eyes shooting daggers at him. He caught himself and put on his best diplomat face before entering the room. He made an uneasy smile in Japan's direction.

Being bedridden with America at fault, Japan didn't take the initiative to use terse greetings. America worried whether the bomb had done something to his personality, because it was rare for Japan to shout something like, "How dare you come back here. What was that thing you used on me? I expect you to have an explanation and an apology!"

"It was an atomic bomb," America answered. He did not say he was sorry.

"You were far too careless with it. You knew there were lives at stake, didn't you?" Japan hissed. His face was full of anger, but the rest of his body lay paralyzed. It just served to make his speech seem more hateful. "Do you even _know _where you dropped it?"

America ducked his head respectfully and took a step forward. "Hiroshima," he responded. "What, was that city important to you?" He did not say he was sorry.

Japan narrowed his eyes. "I value every city, as well as the people who live in them. Obviously, you don't, considering the number you killed. You almost killed _me."_

America nodded. "Yeah. The bomb kind of had . . . radioactive materials in it. Some of it probably got into your bloodstream, so if some weird stuff is happening to you, I'd say that's why." Mutations were something America had been told might happen, and it was true. It had seemed a lot cooler, though, while he was overlooking the Manhattan Project. Now, he was afraid to hear it.

"Yes . . . " Japan said. "Having no ability to do _anything else, _I wanted to trim my fingernails this morning. But when I tried to use the clip on my thumb, I felt excruciating pain. Look!" He lifted his hand, and America gasped at the sight – little lines of blue running down the pale keratin. He had grown nerves in his fingernails.

"This is sick and unnatural, and it's your fault. All of this destruction, at the hands of one man? That's impossibly large scale damage. I doubt even _nature _could –" Japan stopped his rant short, jerking his head upwards and shuddering throughout his entire mobile body. "Ah!" he yelped.

"What's the matter?" America asked.

Japan brought his hand to his forehead. "Ugh, nothing. Flashes of the future, that's all. Sixty-five years or so from now? Probably another mutation. I withdraw my comment about nature. But," he said with a scowl, "I'm still not happy."

"Well, of course you're not happy," America said. "I brutally stabbed you. If you were me, I wouldn't want something like this happening again."

"I don't like where you're going with this."

America placed his hands on his sides, trying to exude strength. "Surrender," he demanded, taking two broad steps forward.

Japan turned his head to the side. "I'll think about it."

America knew what that meant. He wasn't going to take no for an answer – he didn't _want _to have to take no for an answer. He marched up to the side of the bed and kneeled down. His tough expression softened. "Please, Japan?" he said. "You've reduced me to begging. Listen, my boss is breathing over my shoulder about this, and I don't know if I could live with myself if –"

"Your relationship with your boss doesn't concern me," Japan interrupted, not bothering to look America in the eye. "And I already said that I would think about it."

"I need an answer now, Japan," America begged. Maybe if he pretended to cry, he might be convinced.

Japan didn't say anything for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and said, "No."

Keeping up the charade, America let his eyes water up as he reached behind him for what he was hiding in his belt. "Then I don't have a choice," he whispered.

Japan turned his head at the sound of metal against metal. His angry eyes grew wide in shock when he saw a second knife diving towards his good arm. He screamed louder than he'd been able to for days.

As the cut was made, America started to shake, fearing what he had become. His crocodile tears became real ones.

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**A/N: Yes. I inserted a throwaway reference to the earthquake. I am such an insensitive person.**

**Still, I hope this chapter was good! The next one is going to be the last – it'll wrap up the RoChu storyline (sort of) and the official end of World War II. Stick around for it!**


	6. Sadako's Paper Cranes

**A/N: The final chapter has arrived! I want to thank everyone who alerted, favorited, and reviewed this story. You've kept me motivated!**

**Please R&R! Hope you enjoy!**

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"Japan? Are you awake aru?" China took two timid steps through the doorway to Japan's bedroom. In a demonstration of non-aggression, he'd chosen to wear one of the silk robes he hadn't even looked at since he'd been at war. He was fumbling to keep something hidden from his brother beneath the flowing sleeves.

He cringed a bit when he heard a reply. "Come in." Japan's voice was so hoarse, while it was usually soft and confident.

It was also the first time in centuries that they had sat together to have a civilized conversation, and that wasn't working to make China feel any better. He couldn't bring himself to look his brother in the eyes as he stood awkwardly before him.

"Are you feeling all right aru?" he asked.

Japan's breath shook as he sighed. He sat up as far as he could. "It's getting better," he answered. "I think my left arm is starting to heal." He nodded to his shoulder. It was as emaciated as ever, which made China want to look away until he realized that Japan was actually moving his arm from side to side.

China felt a warm smile grow on his face. "Never give up hope, Japan," he said.

"I need to say something, China," Japan said. "I wouldn't be healing right now – I wouldn't even be alive – if you hadn't come to help me after the first bomb fell." He looked away from China as if he was embarrassed by saying, "Thank you."

The feeling of awkwardness completely melted away from China when he heard this. It was replaced by the warmth of fulfillment – this, appreciation from his first and most distant sibling, was one of the few things he'd ever had an intense yearning for. "We're brothers aru. What else was I supposed to do?" he said as he sat down on the bed next to Japan.

Japan caught China's eye, which didn't surprise him as much as the friendly smile that followed. "Right now, there's no other country I'd rather have for my oldest _nisaan," _he admitted.

China grinned. He'd never need another moment like this. Sadly, he most likely wouldn't _get _another moment like this for centuries. He and his brother were still technically enemies. But China would keep the moment going for as long as he could.

"I want to give you something," he said. He'd made a gift for Japan that he was very excited about. He pulled back his long sleeves to reveal something small and delicate in his hands. It was a sculpture of a bird, made out of paper. The paper was a solid light blue. "Here." He handed it to Japan.

Japan took it from him with his good hand. He examined it in wonder. "A paper crane," he said quietly. "A bit sloppily folded, but I take it you're a beginner."

"Do you like it?"

Japan set the crane on the sheets covering his stomach so he could get a better look at it. He continued to stare at it as he said, "I do. It makes me think of peace."

China nodded, proud. "That's what I was thinking when I made it aru. I was trying out that thing you made up . . . What's it called? Ori . . . Ore-, uh Oregon-something?"

Japan flinched. "Origami. But please, can you not say things like that to me?"

"Things like what?" China asked, confused.

"State names. Anything that makes me think about _him," _Japan scowled.

"Oh . . . " China knew who he was talking about – America had come clean to the other Allies the day before. China hadn't seen America act that conflicted since the Civil War, back when he was isolationist and hardly interacted with anyone from Asia. Secretly, one of the things China had hoped to do in visiting Japan was to apologize for his ally's actions. But the hate in Japan's eyes made him think that it couldn't be accomplished.

"If you wanted so much to be my older brother, why would you side with someone as careless as America?" Japan inquired, suddenly as critical of China as he always had been. "We all knew he was a loose cannon from the day he gained independence, and when he started targeting me . . . "

To be fair, Japan had attacked America first. But why bring that up now? "If it makes you feel any better, he seemed very guilty the last time I saw him aru," China decided to say instead.

"China, just look at what he did to me," Japan demanded.

China obeyed. It was still difficult to look at the deep gashes in Japan's shoulders, with dried blood creeping out even from under the gauze bandages. But there was something even more disturbing about them this time – they were shivering. China worried for a moment that the arms were getting ready to detach themselves, but an unfamiliar sound made him think otherwise. He looked up and saw that Japan was sniffling, on the verge of tears.

He had never seen Japan cry before.

"Brother! What's the matter aru?" he wailed.

Japan's teeth chattered as he answered. "I can't let this happen again. I surrender."

China gasped. "Are you sure?"

Swallowing his tears, Japan tried to answer with a calm face. "Yes," he said.

China couldn't help but grin. That made it official! That awful war was over at last, and he was on the winning side! He started to laugh, but then he remembered who his company was. His smile dimmed and he nodded respectfully towards his brother. "Thank you aru," he said. "You've saved everyone from long years of pain."

Japan sighed. "Several weeks ago, I met a young girl named Sadako. She lived in Hiroshima. I don't know if she died or not. But she was only two years old, the very epitome of childhood innocence. She made me hope that one day we might all live in a conflict-free world that reflected what she, as a child, lived for." He picked up the origami crane and held it to his face. "That's why this crane makes me think of her."

The heartbreak in Japan's eyes made China think he should stay and comfort him. But he had other things he needed to do.

"Never stop hoping for peace aru," he said, standing up again.

"Are you leaving?" Japan asked. He didn't take his eyes off the crane.

China nodded. "I have to. I have a meeting scheduled with –" He gulped, trying to hide his fear. " – Russia." Russia had been mighty pissed the last time he'd seen him. China's forehead still bore the bruises from their clash a week before.

"Good luck, then, brother." Japan nodded to China and turned away. His lips quivered as he continued to stare at the paper bird in his hand, but he didn't cry again, at least not until China left. Once he did, though, he heard quiet sobs from the bedroom.

China walked back through Japan's house and opened the front door. To his surprise, America was standing on the other side, wearing a black suit and a solemn expression. Both of those were extremely unusual for him.

America seemed surprised to see China, as well. "China? What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was talking to my brother, just like I promised you I would aru. What are _you _doing here?"

America sighed and lowered his head. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm going to make amends."

* * *

Five men sat around a small table, each with the alcoholic beverage of their choice in front of them. None of them spoke to one another.

Not to say there was a lot of body language going on. America refused to look anyone in the eye, while England looked towards at him with the slightest expression of disappointment. Russia and China glared at each other from across the table. And France was making a statement just by the fact that he wasn't making eyes at anyone. Was this supposed to be a celebration?

England broke the silence. "So I suppose this means the war is officially over," he said with only the slightest bit of joy.

"Yes. We won. We really won aru," China answered, though very solemnly. He didn't look at anyone when he said it, his eyes just skirting around the table.

"I guess we're not a team anymore," America said. Right when he was getting convinced that he _wasn't _the only useful one in the group, too. He would miss their company.

Russia wouldn't. "All for the best, da?" he said, suddenly the most cheerful person at the table. "I was starting to get sick of everybody!" He turned to America, still sporting the world's most innocent-looking grin. "You know I have the atomic bomb, too, da?"

China scowled. "Don't brag aru."

Russia just smiled. His little Yao-Yao wouldn't be able to pretend he wasn't in love for long. One day, he'd take him back. Someday soon, he'd see just how much they could have in common.

France spoke up. "I myself found a few of you difficult to work with," he said, shooting a pointed look at England.

"The feelings are mutual, chap," England retorted.

"To be honest, I don't feel close enough to any of you to want to sit here all night," France said. He pushed away the rest of his wine and stood up, tossing his hair back as he walked away. "_Au revoir!" _

"Good riddance," England mumbled.

The atmosphere had gotten undeniably awkward. After France had gone, China and Russia both noticed this individually. Their partnerships with the others at the table had ceased, and there was no reason to stay or even to say goodbye. They both stood up silently and walked off in separate directions.

America was left alone with England. He could feel the stony disapproval that the older nation was sending in his direction, and he knew that they were no longer fighting alongside each other either. He stood and went to go home, but before he could get far, he felt a hand on his arm.

"You've made some bad decisions, America, but those bad decisions saved us. This war may have ended on a bittersweet note for the rest of them, but in my eyes, you _are _a hero." England moved his hand down America's arm and grabbed onto his friend's hand. "We're still allies, aren't we?" he wondered.

America turned to face England and smiled. "Yeah, we are," he said, shaking hands with him.

* * *

"I came to say goodbye. You probably have heard of my surrender by now. But while we are not fighting together anymore, I hope we can remain friends." Japan was walking for the first time in weeks, and the first thing he did after leaving his house was go to Germany's home to wrap things up with his allies.

"Look how far we've fallen. The mighty Axis. I had such hope for us," Germany sighed.

Japan nodded. "As did I, Germany-san," he said.

"I didn't!" Italy piped up. "With me in your group, I think it's just a wonder we lasted so long!"

Japan couldn't help but smile. Italy was such a childish young man. It had annoyed him during the war, but now it reminded him of Sadako. Italy wasn't exactly weak – he just yearned for peace.

"Oh, yeah! Germany, tell Japan what we did for him!" Italy exclaimed.

Germany nodded at his best friend and turned to face Japan. "Earlier, we were contacted by, of all people, China. He told us to make these for you." He and Italy both reached behind them and brought out origami cranes of their own.

Japan was pleasantly surprised. "Thank you, Germany-san. Italy-kun. I will cherish these, I promise!" He took the cranes and examined them. Germany was not an artist, and his crane was mangled, with creases in all the wrong places. Italy's, on the other hand, was expertly folded, but had a random goofy face drawn on the beak.

At least they had tried.

"The origami you make is so magnificent, Japan!" Italy said. "Being in a war was so awful. I wish everything in the world was as beautiful as these little paper cranes are."

Japan set his gifts down on the counter next to him and placed his hands on his wounded shoulders. He knew that everything couldn't be beautiful. But he'd also learned that even ugly things could change. America had come to visit him the other day, and he had acted like a perfect gentleman. He'd apologized in the sincerest way and even showed signs that he wanted to forge a friendship. Japan wouldn't, of course, but it gave him hope for a better future.

"Maybe one day everything _will_ be, Italy."

* * *

**A/N: The end.**

**There's some historical foreshadowing to the Cold War and China becoming Communist, if you caught any of it. I won't be writing about that. If you thought this was riddled with historical inaccuracies, if I wrote about something as convoluted as the Cold War, it would be completely wrong.**

**I started and ended the story with Italy, while leaving him out of the middle parts, because he really does seem like the happiest and most innocent out of the main characters. He's useless in war, but then again, is war really the thing that should be the most important in the world?**

**Thanks for reading!**


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